Remeberance
by XiaoDui
Summary: What do we remember on Memorial Day, anyway . . . ?


People say that Danny Phantom is a hero, but he's not always so sure of himself, or that he deserves the credit

Yes, he saves lives as he protects Amity Park from the various ghosts bent on taking over the world. Yes, he fights to protect the weak, and does his best to support the strong. Yes, he sacrifices all that he has so as the world is kept in balance. Yes, he makes it so most people can live one day, one afternoon, one hour longer.

But, he's not the only one, and he knows it. He knows it, just as he knows it's not just the powers that make the hero.

* * *

Memorial Day.

Danny Fenton, the secret human half of the infamous Danny Phantom, sighs as he reclines on a stretch of grass in Amity's park. It's a nice day - no clouds in the sky, a comfortable sixty-seven degrees, no school . . . and best of all, no ghost attacks (he'd originally worried over that one, but had by now given up; it was ruining his day).

Normally, he'd be hanging out with best friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley, enjoying the school-free day. Actually, they'd be celebrating a _ghost_-free day . . . instead, when he'd woken up that morning, he'd realized that he had _no clue_ what Memorial Day was about. It had to be for remembering something . . . but what? It certainly wasn't to remember the dry-cleaning you forgot to pick up, or that you might have left your purse sitting on the kitchen counter as you left for all the stupid sales taking advantage of no one working.

What do you remember on Memorial Day? His own regular 'rememberances' on Memorial Day tended to go along the lines of last-minute homework, ghosts, friends, ghosts, and making it out of his house without being attacked by one or more of his parents' psychotic (albeit _useful_, at times) inventions. Oh, and ghosts, too.

As usual when he needed to know something . . . he'd asked his genius older sister, Jazz Fenton.

"What's Memorial Day for? Well . . . we remember people who have died for our country, I think. You know, the soldiers from the wars?"

Danny almost jumped when his iPod started playing a song he didn't remember putting on it, effectively jolting him out of his meandering musings. He'd been listening to his music as he lounged - now, he groaned, sat up, and picked up the infernal device. He'd kill Tucker later for messing with it, and putting his own songs on there . . .

. . . but, for some reason . . . he got the feeling he should hear this one out . . .

_If you're readin' this, my momma's sitting there;_

_Looks like I only got a one-way ticket over here . . ._

_Sure wish I could give you one more kiss . . ._

_War was just a game we played when were were kids._

_I'm layin' down my gun,_

_I'm hangin' up my boots,_

_I'm up here with God, and we're both watchin' over you . . ._

_So lay me down_

_In that open field out on the edge of town_

_And know my soul_

_Is where my momma always prayed that it would go_

_And if you're readin' this_

_I'm already home._

_If you're readin' this . . . halfway 'round the world . . ._

_I won't be there to see the birth of our little girl . . ._

_I hope she looks like you . . . I hope she fights like me;_

_Stands up for the innocent, and the weak._

_I'm layin' down my gun,_

_I'm hangin' up my boots,_

_Tell Dad I don't regret that I followed in his shoes . . ._

_So lay me down_

_In that open field out on the edge of town_

_And know my soul_

_Is where my momma always prayed that it would go_

_And if you're readin' this_

_I'm already home_

_If you're readin' this, there's gonna come a day_

_When you'll move on, and find someone else, and that's okay._

_Just remember this: I'm in a better place,_

_Where soldiers live in pease, and angels sing "Amazing Grace"!_

_So lay me down_

_In that open field out on the edge of town_

_And know my soul_

_Is where my momma always prayed that it would go_

_And if you're readin' this . . ._

_If you're readin' this . . ._

_. . . I'm already home . . ._

It all clicked into place in Danny's mind, and he didn't even notice for a moment that the iPod had moved on to one of Sam's screaming deathmental songs (apparently, she'd gotten ahold of the damned thing as well . . .)

Slowly, he began to smile softly . . .

. . . his thumb pressed 'back', and then set the song "If You're Readin' This" . . . to repeat.

* * *

He'd known he wasn't the only here from the beginning of Phantom's existance and or heroic career. To be honest, he just hadn't known how many until just then.

There are thousands, hundreds of thousands . . . maybe even millions of heroes.

He'd known the powers didn't make the hero since he became one himself. He'd known it, but he couldn't have pinpointed anyone if you'd have asked him. Now, he did.

There are thousands, hundreds of thousands . . . maybe even millions of heroes.

They're easier to see and find than you'd think.

The heroes are the soldiers, male and female, white and black, short and tall, alive or no longer of this earth.

The heroes are the soldiers, who have fought for America.

The heroes are everday people, just like Danny, you, or me.

We remember the heroes on Memorial Day.


End file.
